


The Bottom of a Bottle

by thegreatml



Category: BioShock
Genre: Angst?, Hector Rodriguez - Freeform, Kyle Fitzpatrick - Freeform, M/M, Rapture (Bioshock), Sander Cohen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2615234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatml/pseuds/thegreatml
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hector Rodriguez spends yet another night at Eve's Garden where he stumbles upon Kyle Firzpatrick sitting all by himself. Hector tries to make sense of all Kyle's nonsense, but instead they both seem to break down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bottom of a Bottle

Hector Rodriguez was sitting on his favourite spot in Eve’s garden as he always did on a Friday night or every night actually, of course with a drink in his hand. He was already beginning to feel a bit dizzy but that didn’t keep him from shoving one glass of wine after the other down his throat. “Damn good wine.” He babbled “keep them coming”. The barman gave him another bottle of wine as he frowned at Hector when their eyes met. “If you’re planning on getting as drunk as yesterday and disturb the other customers and my dancers, I’m going to throw you out, Rodriguez!” Hector just smiled at the barman’s harsh comment as he pressed the cold glass against his lips and swal-lowed the wine all at once. He looked at the barman whom rolled his eyes before he turned his head towards another customer. “Prick,” he mumbled and filled the glass once again. 

Hector looked at the dark bottle in front of him. Eve’s garden was filled with people, mostly men of course, who purred down alcohol while looking at the beautiful half naked ladies who danced while the men threw money onto the stage. The room was filled with smoke from cigarettes and cigars and it was nearly impossible to see anything if it hadn’t been for the light coming from the lamps. Hector couldn’t really see straight anymore and he thought to himself that maybe he should just begin to head home. He took the bottle with him and headed towards the main door. He was about to slam the colour-full door open when he noticed that Kyle Fitzpatrick was sitting all alone in a dark corner with a glass of whiskey. Rodriguez steered to the table with an unsteady awkward walk. “Why are you sitting here all by yourself? Have all your friends left you?” Fitzpatrick shook his head and took a sip from his glass. “I wasn’t really in the mood for company,” he sighed and swal-lowed the rest of the whiskey. Rodriguez filled Kyle’s glass with wine. Fitzpatrick just shoved it down his throat without hesitating. “Sander Cohen threw you away like a pile of junk and found another pianist, didn’t he?” Fitzpatrick frowned and made a grimace “Just shut up, you drunken bastard. It’s not like that at all!” Hector just looked at him with an unreadable stare. “That was a bit harsh” he said but his voice didn’t really seem convincing – maybe it was because of the alcohol or maybe it was just because he didn’t really care what other people thought of him. Kyle just stared at the table as if it was one of the most interesting things he had ever seen. “I love Sander Cohen. He’s amazing and an art-genius but it’s like he is changing. He...he’s...” Kyle wrinkled his eyebrows and coughed. “I have to go, thanks for the wine.” He left the table. Rodriguez sat for a while and stared at Fitzpatrick’s empty glass. He drank the last remains of the wine before he left the strip club.

He found Fitzpatrick in the Fleet Hall as he expected. The last show for tonight was over and he sat there all alone playing the piano in the dark. The music was sad but somewhat cheerful in a weird combination. For a while Rodriguez just stood there and stared at Fitzpatrick, who looked so con-centrated while his long fingers danced over the tangents. Rodriguez seated himself on one of the chairs close to the stage and when Fitzpatrick had finished, he clapped his hands. Kyle looked down at the tangents and Rodriguez climbed onto the stage and placed a hand on the piano. “It sounds wonderful”. Kyle sighed “it sounds like shit.” He jammed both his hands on the tangents making a loud horrible sound echo through the Fleet Hall. “It’s all SHIT. It’s never good enough it sounds so fucking awful! Shit, shit, shit that’s what it is! No matter how much I practice it’s still dreadful to listen to!” He breathed hysterically and for a moment it looked like he was about to cry. “Fuck,” he mumbled and bit his lip. “You’re a fucking idiot for thinking like that. You have to believe in yourself or what it is the wise guys say.” Rodriguez sat down next to Fitzpatrick on the small red wooden bench while letting his fingers slide along the tangents. “It’s a beautiful piano,” he mumbled. Fitzpatrick cleared his throat. “I’m not really worthy being one of his disciples. Never was.” His hands were shaking as he spoke. Rodriguez just stared at Fitzpatrick’s slim fingers without saying anything. Instead he just placed a hand on top of Fitzpatrick’s. His hand was so very cold and he got chills just from touching it. Kyle opened his mouth as if to say something while looking at him with a confused expression on his face. Hector gently squeezed his hand and moved a bit closer to him. His mind was going blank, maybe it was because of the alcohol or maybe it wasn’t, but in the end it didn’t really matter and with nothing to lose he pressed his lips violently against Kyle’s chapped lips. He pushed him up against the piano and Fitzpatrick’s mouth was so hot and bitter as a result from the whiskey. Kyle was digging his nails into the fabric of Hector’s sleeves, but he didn’t care even though it was his favourite suit. He wanted to hurt Kyle so badly, make him scream and beg for mercy, because god, why couldn’t he realise that Sander Cohen only saw them as tools and not as human beings?! Why couldn’t he understand that it didn’t matter wherever or not he practiced the piano until his fingers bleed? None of it mattered in the end. Rapture was about to crumble and they were going down with it.   
Hector pushed Fitzpatrick even harder against the piano and Kyle yelped in pain, and it made Hector even more in need of hurting him. Hear him cry out loud with fingernails desperately holding unto him. But Kyle aggressively bit Hector’s tongue and bottom lip and he could feel the metallic taste of blood on the tip of his sore tongue. Fitzpatrick shoved him away and leaned up against the piano while panting. His lips were trembling and it looked like his was going to collapse any minute. Hec-tor touched his bottom lip and looked stunned at the small bloodstains on his fingertips. “You taste like a fucking liquid store!” Fitzpatrick’s voice was cold and eyes narrowed. He looked heated into Rodriguez’s brown eyes without wavering. Hector didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. Kyle seemed puzzled. He turned his back to Hector and the piano and walked away. Before he reached the entrance to the Fleet hall Hector shouted at him: “You’re nothing but a tool, Kyle. You aren’t his little muse or what it is you’re thinking. You’re just a tiny sad pianist who’s fucking fascinated by a man, who doesn’t care about you. Hell, even if you died he wouldn’t give a shit. He would just hire a new pianist without any second thoughts and dance on your grave to the tunes.” Kyle had stopped. He stood there nailed to the floor beneath him. His hand touched the doorway and for a moment it looked like his was going to turn around and just knock the shit out of Rodriguez, but he didn’t. He just stood there like one of Cohen’s weird plaster models.  
Hector brutally grabbed the wooden bench and threw it with all his strength into the beautiful piano. The bench hit the piano with a loud crash and left some really huge and ugly marks. One of the legs on the chair broke and a lot of the tangents got damaged by the hard hit. The piano was left in mis-ery. The beauty had been killed by a drunken bastard. Fitzpatrick pressed his lips together, but he remained silent. He didn’t even turn his head to look at the piano, which he had always loved so very much. “SAY SOMETHING!” Hector screamed and grabbed the bench once again in frustra-tion. He hammered the bench into the piano over and over again and for each time another part of it fell off. “FUCK THIS SHIT!” He tossed the rest of the bench on the floor. “Say something, Kyle. Don’t just fucking stand there.” Fitzpatrick breathed in sharply and looked directly at him with his sad brown eyes. He shook his head in grief and then he just ran off. Rodriguez could swear he saw a glimpse of a tear in Kyle’s eyes but it didn’t matter now. He fell to his knees next to the ruined piano. A piece of paper was trapped underneath one of the legs from the bench. He snatched it: Scherzo #7 – Cohen’s masterpiece. Hector tore the paper into pieces and threw it on the ground. He left the Fleet Hall without looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> I found this fic on my old laptop when going through my various documents. I think it was written back in 2011-2012, so I tried my best to fix some of the bizar grammar- and spelling mistakes I made back then. I think, I made it decent enough to upload on AO3.


End file.
